


The Wild Within

by Follower_Of_Mania



Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Canonical Character Death, F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi, Sarcastic Hawke, intense friendship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-25
Updated: 2016-03-25
Packaged: 2018-05-28 22:53:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6348841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Follower_Of_Mania/pseuds/Follower_Of_Mania
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is nothing worse than returning from a journey and finding that you no longer belong.</p><p>Hawke had journeyed from one side of Ferelden to the other several times. She had fought armies of abominations, swarms of henchmen, and thousands of darkspawn. Yet at the end of the day, when she journeyed to Kirkwall in search of her home, Hawke felt terrified of what lay ahead.</p><p>There is nothing worse than reuniting with your family and realizing that they've long since moved on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Arrival

Hawke inhaled, the harsh scent of sea spray and salt flooding her throat and nose with a tingle. She exhaled, a soft cloud of warm breath coming from her mouth.

The constant groan and moan of the wooden deck continued toiling away in the background as she looked out over the railing towards the city of Kirkwall. Chains held the ancient statues of elven slaves as they lead the way into the gallows of the city. As Hawke understood, during the blight Ferelden refugees had had to stay in the gallows with the Templars and the Circle. After seeing Ferelden’s Circle first hand when Elissa Cousland asked for assistance in raiding it, Hawke knew of the horrors caged within and truthfully feared for her sister’s life. Tales of the harsh regime of Knight Commander Meredith had spread throughout the port towns of Ferelden, and Hawke feared the truth might be harsher than rumor.

She thought briefly of the rivaini duelist Leliana and Elissa had slept with. Was this ship at all like the Siren’s Call she’d been so proud of, or was a pirate ship completely different from that of a smuggler or merchant? Hawke resolved to find out, and also to determine the exact pitch of the squeal a sheep made as it was thrown towards a castle. She didn’t know where the second part came from, but decided that she rather liked the hilarity of telling people that was her life goal from this point forward. Hawke drifted off into thought of flying sheep as she took a deep gulp of the ale she’d been holding in her hands. The wooden tankard fit marvelously with the theme of wood, sea, drunkards and wind that the ship seemed to be going for. The old, wooden chair she’d declared her own had a nice view off the side of the ship, and she’d turned it slightly so as to have a view of the plank should anyone be walking it. Several men with wandering eyes and pompous egos had attempted to steal it from her. Hawke chose to ignore them and swing her incredibly sharp greatsword around their faces.

As the ship drew closer and closer to Kirkwall the sea spray and salt faded, leaving only the wonderful scent of rotting corpses, sewage, and general horridness to fill it’s place. Hawke would swear she also smelt magic and abominations in the city, but most would say she was just a crazy berserker. Such was a fact she could not disagree with. None the less, Hawke continued keeping her mouth shut. Well, shut until she took another drink of ale. It’d taken her a while to fit her gauntlet clad hand around the tiny handle of the tankard, but eventually she’d figured it out. The only problem was that now her hand was stuck there, and Hawke feared that she’d have to break the tankard that was quickly becoming her best friend. She’d been drinking moonshine for most of the journey, but now decided she’d lessen her alcohol content down to just ale. Didn’t want to give Leandra the wrong idea the first time they met again now did she. 

“Andraste’s tits this city smells bad,” a random stranger had swaggered up behind her and threatened to place his hand on her shoulder. Hawke grunted in agreement as she grabbed her great sword in her free hand and swung it on to her shoulder. She chuckled as the foolish man realized that her shaving a few of his hairs was not an accident. He scurried away to enhance her fierce reputation. She would've thought that the ship was small enough the first few would cast her the right impressions.

"Can't say I disagree with him though. Just the right amount of despair and vomit for absolute disgust,” Hawke swirled her beloved tankard in thought, "I think I need to invest in some nug skin coats. My Orlesian stupidity senses are tingling."

As the ship, which Hawke had never cared to learn the name of, drew closer and closer to Kirkwall the stench increased. Though it also mixed in with the screeching of day to day life and the tell tale clang of a blacksmith hammering away constantly. Hawke was puzzled as to how all the blacksmiths managed to maintain one rhythm and thus make a combined noise that was loud  enough for her to hear clearly while still a mildly significant way out at sea. She quickly decided to let the scholars and mages figure it out. Or maybe to let the Chantry blame it on some magical phenomenon so they could complete a third Exalted March to the Free Marches. She'd probably end up getting recruited into yet another insane military campaign and look what riches the last one got her. The Chantry was certain to pay better than Lothering's guard. Not that Lothering had a guard. It was really more Carver, Marian and their mabari Barkspawn wandering the edges of town glaring at the adolescents hiding in bushes and threatening to sick a Templar on them. 

Hawke missed Barkspawn, she really did. She'd spent most of her time in camp playing with Elissa's dog, Duncan. Truth be told, without a faithful Mabari by her side Hawke felt lonely. There was something about them that reminded her of home, of how Ferelden was before all the bullshit. They reminded her of arguing with Carver while Bethany rated them out to her Mother and her Dad sat in the background barely restraining his laughter. Duncan had been a replacement for Barkspawn, but he held a special place in her heart. Hawke had wondered about the name, but relented when Alistair mentioned dead wardens. Hawke does not consider herself a fan of dead people, or getting involved with the mourning of dead people. Sure she had mourned the death of her Father, but she didn't sit around in the useless abandon others so often did. 

Hawke set her silverite great sword down off her shoulders to rest amicably across her armoured thighs. She'd obtained Yusaris from Shah Wyrd, a powerful rage demon. The sword hadn't left her side since, though she should probably look for a backup should it eventually fail her. Nothing quite like your sword shattering while you're blade deep in a abomination to ruin your day. 

Hawke daydreamed a bit about all of the fights she could get in. Everyone was always busy with doom and gloom when facing the Blight. Though there was an endless stream of darkspawn and bandits to entertain oneself, there was nothing quite like the feeling of standing against a army with nothing on you but a pair of steel boots and a great sword. Ostagar had certainly been entertaining. 

Hawks wiped the grin off her face as she realized how close they'd gotten to Kirkwall. The tall, menacing walls of the gallows welcomed the ship into the docks. Chains connected statues of tormented elvhen slaves in a grotesque show of oppression and power. 

Gripping the hilt of Yusaris and slinging the sword across her back, Hawke stood and regretfully broke the handle of beautiful tankard.  She chucked the now useless item overboard. She spent a few seconds watching as it floated through the water amongst the other filth of the harbor before focusing on her goal. She'd heard rumours that Leandra Hawke and her two youngest had shown up here in Kirkwall. Apparently they were making quite the stir with an expedition into the deep roads on the way and a contract with one of the mercenary companies here in the city. Hawke had been devastated to hear news that Lothering was destroyed as she'd been captured by Loghain's men. She'd been even more destroyed to hear that Barkspawn wasn't sighted along with the family.

Apparently Flemeth had decided she wasn't worth saving from the top of that tower. Hawke clenched her free fist before running her hand through her shortened hair. Leliana had been the only one to truly understand the pain she went through in the dungeons below Denerim prior to being rescued by the Wardens. Hawke had delighted in being the one to duel and execute Loghain in his trial. Hawke waited for the ship to dock before vaulting over the side and landing in a crouch on the pier. She took off at a casual jog into the filthy gallows. Casual only in the sense that the casual passerby had already long since cleared out of her path. 

Hawke’s armor was forged from silverite and taken from the corpse of a mercenary who’d tried to attack her before she left for Kirkwall. She’d decided to abandon all of her gear but for Yusaris before she left Elissa. She’d been borrowing it all anyways. Clad in some peasant cloths, Hawke must’ve made a remarkable target for passing bandits. It’d only taken four or five ambushes before she’d found a decent set to steal. Hawke lived by the motto "It’s not grave robbing if they’re not in the ground yet."

The first sight to greet her as she jogged into the gallows square was two templars guarding the entrance to the circle. The sight of their familiar scowls brought a smile to Hawke’s face. She decided to approach them, her steps exaggerated and wide as she pretended to sneak up on the templars. 

She chuckled at the distaste in their eyes before straightening up, “Can you tell me where Leandra, Carver and Bethany Hawke currently live?” 

One of them grunted, “Move aside mercenary. We don’t have time for the likes of you."

“Oh but what do you have time for? There are _oh so many_  blood mages around these parts,” Hawke gestured at the obviously blood mageless streets. She stared at the dust below her, “Maybe the dust mites? I’ve never heard of dust mites being mages."

The other templar growled, “Leave before we make you."

“Geez, calm down. I guess I’ll go talk with the city guards over there, they certainly seem more competent,” Hawke knew well the rivalry that tended to form between city guards and templars. 

“Check the hanged man. I’ve seen Carver there on my breaks,” One of the templars helpfully provided. 

“Thank you fine gentlemen! I’ll be sure to complain to your superiors!” Hawke charged off with a laugh as the two bristled at the comment. 

“Hanged Man… Hanged Man… Hanged Man…” Hawke clinked her heels together in vain, “Damn, thought it’d work this time."

A nearby woman chuckled at her, “Welcome to Low Town darling. I’m Elegant, Lady Elegant."

Hawke grinned at the woman, “I’m Hawke, Marian Hawke. You wouldn’t happen to know where my darling siblings are would you?"

“Bethany and Carver? Last I heard they were out of town with the Deep roads Expedition. They’d been looking forward to it for months!"

Hawke reeled back, stunned, “My siblings!?! In the deep roads!” Hawke muttered several unpleasant curse words under her breath before growling out, “Mother…”

Lady Elegant shook her head, “You mom was opposed to it, but they both wanted to go. Something about reclaiming the family glory. Look, you’ll need to go talk to Leandra for the full story. Just go around this block and then take a left at the Hanged Man. They left Isabela, Aveline, and Anders behind so be sure to check out the Hanged Man. I imagine they’ll be there drowning out their sorrows.” 

Hawke thanked her, and left with a nod to meet Isabela. Surely her old friend would be more honest about recent events than Leandra. Her mother always enjoyed putting the worst spin on things. The Hanged Man was easy to spot, with drunkards loitering outside and distraught spouses searching valiantly for their wandering partners. Hawke felt a kinship with the place at first glance and vowed to find a replacement for her broken tankard. Perhaps she should drink her sorrows away, make herself even more of a disappointment for Mother dearest… Hawke shook the thought out of her head. She’d talk to Isabella, drown out her sorrows and then sleep. It was always best to approach Leandra in the morning, less people up and about to overhear the screaming. 

Hawke swung open the door with a hearty bang and smiled as her eyes feasted upon the abundant amount of people to bother. Of course her eyes were immediately drawn to Isabela who stood at the counter, a guard seated next to her. Hawke decided boisterousness was the best solution to all her current problems, “Why if it isn’t my darling Isabela!” the woman turned, her features alighting in a sultry smile. 

“Well if it isn’t Hawke, never thought I’d ever see your face again,” Hawke maneuvered her way to the side opposite the guard and signaled the barkeep over for a drink, “Don’t mean to be rude, but what are you doing here? Last I heard you were off with the Warden-Commander fighting the Archdemon."

“I heard my family’s in town. Bethany, Carver, and Leandra Hawke. Don’t tell me they’ve been arrested already!"

The guard grunted, a small smile appearing on her face. The bartender came over and slid Hawke a new drink. She decided the metal of this tankard suited her a bit more than the last. The larger handle was certainly helping. 

Isabela slung her arm around Hawke’s shoulders, “They got damn near close a couple of times. Carver’s a hot head isn’t he. This is Aveline, she’s the most boring person to ever bore."

The guard shoved Isabela gently, a soft smile on her face. She then offered Hawke her hand, “Guard Captain Aveline. I appreciate the work you did over in Ferelden."

Hawke shook the hand before taking several gulps of the miscellaneous liquid in her tankard. Isabela and Aveline seemed morose, a mood Hawke saw fit to fix, “Say, what’s got you two down in the dumps?"

They both sighed in unison, revealing to Hawke that she’d made a very bad move. She attempted to recover, “Wicked Grace anyone?” another sigh, “Bandit hunting?” this time Aveline rested her head on her arms, “Gossiping? Brothel? Politics?” Hawke started listing things off quickly. 

“Thanks for trying Hawke,” Isabella rested a hand on her shoulder, “I think we need a few more drinks before Aveline will be willing to join us though,” The pirate winked over at the Guard Captain who let out a grunt of utter disgust. 

“Drinking it is,” Hawke settled down next to the two and began emptying her newly beloved tankard, “Say, how about a story!"

Isabella groaned, “Not again."

Hawke grinned at her and winked at the suspicious Aveline, “So once upon a time in the tiny town of Lothering,” Hawke trailed off as she noticed Aveline’s growing scowl, “Not a story?” 

Aveline made a noncommittal noise. 

Isabella supplied her answer, “Not a story."

Hawke deflated a little. She decided to settle into the morose silence. She deflated a little further as she realized that she had probably picked the two dullest people in the tavern to sit with. Two brawls had broken out in the other corner and it seemed like an amazing game of wicked grace was being played at one of the tables. 

Hawke shifted nervously before deciding to leave the other two to their sadness, “Well this has been fun, but uh,” Hawke attempted to think of an excuse. Nothing was really coming to her so she decided to use the time honored practice of pretending someone had called her name, “I think someone’s calling my name in, uh, that general direction?” Her delivery was bad but she made it away unscathed as Isabella and Aveline remained slouched together. 

Hawke slipped out of her seat before stumbling a little. Apparently she’d had a bit more to drink than she’d thought. She staggered a few steps forward before deciding to book a room and approach her mom in the morning.  

* * *

The next morning, Hawke knocked on the door with false vigor. It took but a moment for a grumpy grumble to sound from the other side and for a crack to appear in the door. 

“Go away,” said a voice through the crack. 

Hawke rolled her shoulders and rocked back on her heels, “I’m looking for Leandra Hawke. Tell her that Marian’s here.” 

Suddenly the door swung fully open and revealed the form of a dirty, tired old man. His face was a devastated mess of Amell charm and thievery, “Marian? Like the dead one?” grumbled out the man. 

“Yes like the dead one,” Hawke glanced over his shoulder, “Is my Mother home?” 

The man stepped aside before inviting Hawke in, “I’m Gamlen by the way, your uncle. Tell me, will you pay rent?” He paused and seemed to recognize the armor she was wearing, “I see you will! Tell me, what’s a ragamuffin like you doing as a mercenary?"

Hawke took a cautious step into the rickety house. It smelt faintly of old cheese and despair, “Where’s mom?"

Gamlen wilted at the ignored question, “She should be back from the viscount any second now."

Hawke nodded before walking over to the dinner table and sitting down on one of four rickety chairs, she unsheathed Yusaris and placed it on the table in front of her. The table creaked under the weight of the sword and Gamlen gulped at the sight of the edge. 

Leandra’s voice sounded from just out the door, “Gamlen? Why on Thedas have you left the door open?” 

Gamlen chuckled as she came through the door, “Er, we’ve got a guest and…"

Leandra appeared in the doorway with her hair in perfect form and her dress mildly crinkled. Despite the horrid conditions of the house her posture was perfect and her outfit of good make. The wrinkles across her face betrayed the stress of recent times though and Hawke felt some pity for her Mother. Her voice was just as demanding as she remembered it, “It doesn’t matter if we have a guest! Have you truly lost all your sense of…” Leandra’s voice strayed off as she caught sight of her eldest daughter. 

Hawke stood up from the table with a grin, “See you’re still howling."

Leandra crossed the room quickly and drew Marian into a fierce hug. The chain under Hawke’s plate crinkled as Leandra squeezed her, “You’re alive!"

Hawke hugged her mom back, “So are you."

Gamlen left the house quickly. Leandra pulled away from the hug and looked at Hawke’s face. She noticed the new scar on her chin and brushed her fingers across it, “How?"

Hawke whipped away some of Leandra’s tears, “Luck mostly. I was leaving with Carver when a piece of Ishal fell and we were separated. I told him to run while I searched for a way around. The rest’s history." 

Leandra tucked some of Hawke’s growing hair behind her ear, “I meant how you survived. Did you join Loghain?"

Hawke frowned at the mention of the man, “I’d never join that monster. He,” Hawke choked up as the scars on her back roared in a phantom pain.

Leandra nodded and drew her back in for a hug, “The twins are still trouble you know. I blamed Carver for your death, he was always overconfident in his abilities. They’ve gone off on another adventure now. Some dangerous Deep Roads expedition."

Hawke nodded, “I heard."

Leandra pulled away again and gestured for Hawke to reclaim her seat, “I’ll make some tea. You must be tired!"

Hawke shook her head, “I just came from the Hanged Man,” she ignored Leandra’s snort of disgust, “However, tea would be nice." 

Leandra put the pot next to the fire before sitting down at the table with Hawke, “I was just with the viscount. Gamlen gambled away the old Amell estate even though I inherited it. None the less, we should be allowed to move back in soon provided we can gain enough money to pay for taxes and such. 

Hawke nodded, “I’m sure the twins will appreciate getting out of here. How are they, Mom?"

Leandra sighed, “Just as troublesome as always. They joined this mercenary company to pay off Gamlen’s debt and get us into the city. They’ve even been doing dangerous jobs around the city to earn money for this expedition of theirs."

Hawke sighed in return, “They’ll never change will they,” she glanced around the room, “Where’s Barkspawn?"

Leandra smiled softly and said, “I was waiting for that question to come. The twins took him with them to the Deep Roads. He’s missed you. He sleeps with Bethany at night. I think she sounds and smells the most like you."

Hawke stood, “I should probably be going Mom. Elissa asked me to check in with the Viscount.” 

Leandra stood as well and smiled at her daughter, “I know you’re going after them. I know I cannot stop you.” She drew Hawke into a final hug, “Stay safe my little hatchling.” 

Hawke grinned and pranced out the door with the merry retort she responded with echoing through the house as the only sign she’d been there at all. 


	2. Encounter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke gets punched.

 Hawke liked to believe herself above all the chanting and stabbing the Chantry got involved in. The only worshiping she tended to engage in involved food and brothels, though not necessarily on separate occasions. She had nothing but horrible memories to associate with the Templars and their mage hunts and nothing extraordinary to instill a faith in the Maker. Nonetheless, Hawke had found herself growing closer to the interesting character of Leliana. The bard had all the joy and passion Bethany embodied. Hawke's sister had always adored the Chantry Sister's stories and in a time where reminders of her siblings brought only thoughts of how dead they most certainly were, Leliana's tales were a pleasant distraction. She brought hope to stories about abandonment and disarray in ways unique to those who'd found light after years spent in darkness. 

It was most certainly Leliana's fault that Hawke found herself outside of Kirkwall's chantry.

It was also Leliana's fault that Hawke was considering entering the dastardly place. 

Hawke stared up at the large wooden doors that barred her entrance to the chantry. The two templars who stood at either side of the doorway kept on sending suspicious glances her way. She supposed their minds were filled with excuses for why a person would possibly hesitate before their great sanctuary. For being such a large component of both the skyline and human life, the people of Kirkwall seemed to hold little interest in visiting the chantry. Though they could also fear the person in full armor who was barring the entrance.

The year without familial bonds had freed Hawke of her need to avoid chantries. She no longer had to fear for Bethany's life. This was why, despite the wealth of horror that seeing Ferelden's Circle had given her, Hawke found room for doubt. She did not begin to question the cruelty of Templars nor the necessity of Mage rights but the smaller matters of Andraste and the Maker were no longer foreign to Hawke's curiosity. She'd almost paid a visit to Denerim's Chantry but it had been fully booked with marriages and funerals. The rampage of her curiosity was where the stories of Leliana had come in handy.

Hawke did not like the idea of being abandoned. She was the one who got to walk out of arguments victorious, not the other way around. No deity was going to change this. If Hawke was going to believe she was going to have full rights to destroy this belief and walk away guilt free. Thus, Hawke took up belief in Leliana's stories of the Maker surrounding everyone. He did not abandon us, we simply did not have the ability to hear what he was saying. 

Seeing the ashes of Andraste compounded this newfound belief. Even if Andraste did not truly hear words from the Maker, those ghosts in the Temple of Sacred Ashes believed in her ability to lead and create change. Hawke found a respite in her ability to respect a great warrior rather like the dwarves of Orzammar respected their Paragons. 

These new feelings mixed with the terror and distrust of old instincts. Hawke found herself questioning whether to follow the path of her new characteristics or returning to being Bethany's stalwart protector. What would the twins think of her now? How have they changed? Was her Mother’s earlier happiness nothing but a scam? Had they forgotten about her? She’d never truly brought any pride on their home either. Scandals and storm clouds tended to follow Hawke wherever she went. Zevran sometimes proposed that they should just throw her at the Darkspawn and see how they dealt with her bad luck. 

Hawke stared at the heavy wooden doors for several more seconds before making her choice. Though it was perhaps a bit foolish as she knew none of the words of the Chant of Light and she was always befuddled by the rituals involved in entering the Chantry. It was a good thing Hawke had always considered herself a quick study. 

She stepped forward with gusto, a silent bravery and urgency to her movements. She would seek a member of this Chantry and ask them how to pray for safe passage on a journey through the Deep Roads. One of the Templars standing guard at the door sighed with relief as Hawke made her decision and slid through a crack in the wooden doors. 

The inside of Kirkwall's chantry smelled of incense and stone. While the outside appearance of the building towered over Kirkwall as either oppressive judge or benevolent guardian, the inside was guarded by towering statues and watched over by a gigantic incarnation of Andraste. A chantry tapestry and candles illuminated the area at the statue's feet that was cast into shadows by Andraste's looming form. The Chantry's main source of light was from the three gigantic windows behind the statue and as such the entryway found itself illuminated almost entirely by candlelight. The candles flickered and danced with the elegance of a duelist as devout citizens of Kirkwall communed with their beliefs. 

Hawke felt out of place in this place of absolution and reverence. She felt rather like a guard captain undercover in a thieves den. One step out of line and abominations would start raining from the sky. Hawke's steps lost their gusto and took on an uncertainty rare in the comedic warrior. The other visitors to the Chantry continued in their prayers unswayed by the aid seeking berserker. 

Hawke watched as one man knelt before the candles at the foot of one of many statues. He clasped his hands in front of him and seemed to recite lines of the chant in hushed whispers. His back was hunched in such a comfortable rut one could easily deduce that he prayed like this frequently. The man seemed to have memorized hours of the chant as his whispers increased in speed and desperation. Hawke could no longer watch as the man began sobbing and rocking back and forth along his shins as if trying to comfort himself. 

"It is rude to spy, mercenary," Hawke turned to see the Grand Cleric of Kirkwall. 

"My mother never really had time to teach me civilities," The excuse sprung to Hawke's voice with a smirk and a return of her cocky aura.

The Grand Cleric nodded, "I trust you have a purpose investigating this sanctuary."

Hawke's aura dissipated as her old nervousness returned, "I..." Hawke hesitated, searching for a way to explain her cluelessness and questions without truly mentioning her struggles.

"You have questions. All of us do. We ask too much of our champions. All gardens have weeds just as all warriors have flaws. It is our duty to weed the garden, to find the flaws and grant you faith to fix them," the Grand Cleric took a breath as she readied herself for a soliloquy, "I saw you with the Templars. You question their cruelty, you question the necessity of the circle. I can see it in your eyes, in your defensive stance. You've seen things that make this place foreign from the haven it should be. You have seen the horrors of blind faith and of the ends belief can drive people. Perhaps you knew one of the tranquil prior to the rite. Perhaps you have seen the corruption that we let run rampant through these streets. I will not let it come here. This is my Chantry, it is my sanctuary just as much as it is yours.

"Ask your questions freely. I will not judge them for tranquility is the worst thing we can do to a Mage and it should be used solely as a last resort. I will find the weeds in your garden, the flaws in your character and together we can help the Maker fix them."

Hawke knew her question immediately, "How do I pray for safe passage through the Deep Roads?” The sentence tumbled out of her mouth in her hasty attempt to swallow her sarcasm.

The Grand Cleric smiled, "I think you missed the deadline on that expedition, dear. Unless, could you be a Warden?"

Hawke shook her head, "Too many rules for my tastes. I'm going after my siblings, the twin terrors." 

"With a title like that I’m certain they’ll survive it on their own. Nonetheless, I wish you luck on your adventure. I trust that any part of the chant I teach you will probably be forgotten. Just kneel in front of the statue and tell Andraste of your journey so that she may guide you along your way," The Grand Cleric gave Hawke a wrinkled smile before meandering off to commune with others. 

Hawke took a deep breath before kneeling at the foot of the centre statue, "I realize that I've never done this before, so I apologize for that. You've gotta big shadow though, so congratulations on that achievement. Well, here goes. I'm not certain if you're listening, though who wouldn't listen to me I'm amazing, but I have doubts of my path ahead. I don't know if my siblings will still love me after my long absence and Mother seemed hollow when I saw her earlier today. I've never felt lost before. Even in Denerim I... knew something brighter was coming. I had a goal and that was enough. I want to wander aimlessly like I know Leliana and Elissa are shamelessly doing right now, but something holds me back. I'm sure you've got important things to do wherever you are Andraste, Maker, whatever demon inhabits this statue, but I could use a bit of guidance or a sign or something. It'd be much appreciated, thank you." 

A rigid laugh sounded from behind Hawke, “When my men informed me of a suspicious character trudging up trouble in the Chantry I expected someone with a bit more confidence.”

Hawke stood up and dusted herself off as she addressed her judge, “I’m surprised they even managed to contact you. I thought they would’ve been too busy cleaning their piss off the floor.” 

The judge, who turned out to be surprisingly female and even more shockingly strong punched Hawke across the face and sent her sprawling to the ground, “Now let’s take this outside mercenary. I don’t want to defile this place with your blood.” 

Hawke touched her cheek gingerly as she grinned, “Don’t tell me I slept with your wife, or your husband for that matter, I’m afraid I’ve been completely celibate for the last two days."

“A matter of pride I’m sure. Get up off your ass and meet me outside, I’ve taken time out of my day to make an example out of you so do not make me angrier,” The templar, Hawke’s vision had stopped swirling so she could see the uniform, turned on her heel and marched out of the Chantry with posture so stiff she could have passed for Anora. 

“Why do people always assume it’s my fault,” Hawke grumbled to herself as she lifted herself off the ground a second time, “Andraste’s tits falling in full armor hurts the ass,” Hawke glanced up at the suddenly disapproving statue looming over her, “Good timing I have. Sorry for the disturbance,” She realized that a crowd had gathered to watch the show, “I’m just going to go get punched again and save you all the trouble. Don’t mind me!” 

Hawke scurried after the fierce Templar. She was stopped in front of the door by the Grand Cleric as the elderly woman tugged on her arm and whispered in her ear, “Do you know who that was?” 

“Templars all look the same to me, angry, stiff and desperate for a brothel,” Hawke replied as she slithered out of the Grand Cleric’s grip. She stepped out of the doors through just as small of a crack she’d made when she opened them. 

The angry Templar stood at the top of the stairs with her arms crossed and a fancy uniform. It seemed Hawke had angered one of the Knight Captains. Though Hawke honestly could not tell what rank was implied by the embellishments on the Templar’s armor. She had a red hood over her hair and a golden head ornament, that resembled a crown, atop her head. It wasn’t too unusual for noble heirs to wander around with head ornaments signifying their status. Such was why Hawke didn’t give a second thought to the crown. She did have a second thought on the hood though that thought largely consisted of whether or not this Templar was the girl with the basket or the wolf in that old wives’ tale. 

“I see you didn’t try to sneak out the back."

“And not see your lovely face again? I would never!” Hawke grinned despite the blood rushing to her injured cheek. She loved a good hunt. What better hunt than when your prey thinks they are the predator? 

“A fight till first blood. Let us see if you can last more than five seconds before you fall to my blade,” The angry, mildly old but still fresh blooded templar drew her sword and settled into a defensive stance. 

Hawke grinned, “Judging by the aptitude of your friends, I’d be more surprised if you lasted longer than a second against me.” 

Hawke drew Yusaris from it’s position on her back and settled into her own defensive stance. The two women took tentative steps from side to side as they calculated the strengths of their opponent. Occasionally one would jab step out as they tested the others’ reflexes but alas the first several seconds of the duel were spent tactically. 

It was the Templar who struck first as she feigned right before charging at Hawke. Hawke expected the attack as she brought one gauntlet clad arm to parry the sword as she swung Yusaris one handedly towards Meredith’s shoulder. Her berserk rage summoned itself as her strength increased. The Templar struck at Hawke’s gauntlet with her sword as she ducked under the swing. Hawke hadn’t put her full force behind it as she reversed her grip and yanked on Yusaris’ hilt to send the blade speeding back towards the Templar. 

The templar’s sword pulled free of Hawke’s grasp as she rolled out of her crouch to stand across from Hawke. They were back in their first positions though Hawke’s thoughtful smile had turned into a full blown grin and the Templar’s apathy was marred by the appreciative smile drawing upon her lips. 

Hawke struck next as she closed the new distance between the two. She gripped her sword with two hands as she struck at the Templar’s shoulder before slicing across to counter her parry. The two remained with their swords locked for a painful few seconds as Hawke pondered how long it would take to resharpen her sword. With a shove Hawke forced the templar to disengage and step back. She pressed her advantage with fast, strong strikes fueled by her inherent rage. 

The templar weathered the storm as she backed up. She allowed Hawke to sink just a little further into her anger before sliding the sword over to the left before using her right hand to strike out with the dagger hidden at her waist. The short blade struck a clean cut across Hawke’s cheek but the berserker was not to be outdone. As Meredith knocked aside Yusaris, Hawke allowed her right shoulder to bare the force of her swing. Using her left hand Hawke drew a dagger resting along the inside of her forearm to strike Meredith a clean cut across her own cheek. 

The crowd roared as the duel ended in a draw.

Hawke chuckled as she imagined the crowd saw both a harsh oppressor and an outlaw being shown the strength of others. She turned to her new found sparring partner as the Templar dabbed at her blood in disbelief. 

“I’m Hawke. Can I have the name of the first strong templar I’ve ever met?” 

The other woman soaked up the praise as she said, “I am more concerned about the training of the other templars than I am of giving strangers my name.” 

“Shame that. If you start training them to be like you I won’t have anyone left to laugh at.” 

“It is not righteous to mock those who try to do their best for the greater good.” 

Hawke smiled and opened her mouth to respond with a remark on her perceived nature as a Mercenary. However her dashing comeback was ruined by the arrival of a Templar patrol. They rushed to her opponent's side and immediately began fussing over the wound on her cheek. Hawke watched bemused as the frustrated Templar attempted to get her panicked subordinates off of her. Eventually she managed to scare them off a little before she stepped forward to confront Hawke face to face. 

“I suppose you are new to town."

“Incredibly new. Two days on land new.” 

“I can accept you not knowing my name then,” The Templar stuck out her hand for a firm handshake, “I am Knight Commander Meredith, Commander of Kirkwall’s templars.” 

Hawke accepted the handshake. She hadn’t quite put two and two together on who the terrifying woman she’d just dueled was, “I’m Marian Hawke, ex-companion of Ferelden’s Warden Commander and proud owner of a mabari named Barkspawn."

“That, is an interesting name for a mabari.” 

Hawke chuckled, “It seemed right at the time.” 

* * *

It took Hawke two hours after the encounter to realize that she had just shared a laugh with one of the most powerful Templars on Thedas. 

By then she was already outside Kirkwall on her way to the Deep Roads.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know Meredith can seem loose for how she is in Act 2 & 3 but at this point she hasn't become corrupted by red lyrium and Hawke showed her no allegiance to mages.  
> Beware of mutant pigeons,  
> FoM


End file.
